


Hymn

by formidophile



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Action/Adventure, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formidophile/pseuds/formidophile
Summary: A collection of origin stories for my various TES characters.





	1. Narsea Kilbuuliraan

This part of the forest was old. The trees were twisted and moss hung from branches, as if warning border-crossers of the humid climates up ahead. Ruins of old, forgotten buildings had been reclaimed by nature. The full moon shown over the forest, with light trickling through the treetops. Even without her darkvision, Narsea was able to navigate through the woods with ease.

However, it made fleeing the province a bit… inconvenient.

She heard a _thunk_ as a knife whizzed by her head and buried itself into a tree trunk, but she didn’t dare command her horse to stop. Not when she was so close to being _free_ from-

A vibrant blue enveloped the forest, and a wall of icy flames sprung up from the ground, blocking her path. She yanked the reigns on her horse and gritted her teeth, bringing it to a halt only inches from the fire.

She didn’t bother to turn around. “Let me _go,_ Joanne.”

“You can’t leave the court.” She heard twigs snap as the woman came up behind her. She had been followed closer than she thought. “You were blooded on the first night with the rest of us. _Leaving_ is tantamount to sacrilege.” Joanne reached her hand up, interlacing her fingers with Narsea. For a moment, she dropped the reigns. “You’re with the court for eternity. We can train as long-”

**“I don’t need your training anymore, you _detestable zealot!”_** She snapped her hand out of the woman’s grip and dismounted the horse, marching into Joanne’s personal space - towering slightly over the full-blooded Breton. “I _need_ to be free of this _disgusting_ worship. I _need_ magical expertise from someone who isn’t a malicious little _cultist!_ **I _need_ to get away from _you!”_**

Joanne’s full lips curled into a snarl, and from her peripheral, Narsea could see her grab something on her belt. “Death. Will be an _acceptable_ means of leaving the court.”

“I’ll burn you _alive.”_ She hissed.

A laugh crackled out of Joanne. “Your fire isn’t hot enough. It _never_ was.”

Narsea’s features softened from rage into something more deadpan. “No.” She slid a hand into a sachet by her side. “You’re right. I _apologise.”_

With sudden fury, she jabbed a small instrument into the woman’s neck.

Joanne took a step back, pulling the foreign object out and peered at it. “A _sewing needle?”_ She laughed. “You can’t possibly be _serious!_ I-” Another laugh. “I’m not even ble-” Her eyes clouded over before she could finish, and she stumbled.

“Sleep poisons.” Narsea stated simply, mounting her horse once more. “You didn’t even know I was an _alchemist,_ did you? No, you never cared to.” The cold fire surrounding them had died down, leaving the forest marvelously untouched. “Good bye, Joanne.” She set her horse into a trot. “And good riddance.”


	2. Brunhilde

“Please don’t go,” she mumbled it into the fur of her father’s coat, clinging to his leg. “The hunters will get better soon. You don’t have to go.” She pulled her face away and looked at her parents with pleading eyes. “Please?”

“Your ma and I have to, little cub.” Bjorn lifted the child up and settled her in his arm. “We can’t do nothing while all the village runs off of reserves.” 

He set the little girl down and opened the door, allowing the biting cold of Solstheim to invade the little house. Sigga kneeled, and kissed her daughter atop of her little blonde head. “We’ll be back before dark, Brunhilde. If you need anything, Storn will help you.”

She pulled up her hood and stepped out of the house with Bjorn, leaving the girl alone.

That was the last time she saw them.

 

She fastened her breastplate tightly, eying the other woman in the doorway. “You can follow me to the docks if you want, but I’m going.” The stalhrim refracted light in the most magnificent of ways. With the sun and snow playing off of the armor’s material, the woman almost looked like a creation of ice herself. She started busying herself with the objects cluttering the table - provisions, maps, a sword, and shield, among others.

“I’m not here to stop you. Just wish you well.” She stepped up to Brunhilde and held onto the flat side of a shimmering dagger, offering her the hilt.

She looked at Frea, then the dagger, and took it hesitantly. “Silver?” She looked over the gift. Brunhilde and Frea both had enough knowhow to know what silver was good for - Werecreatures, vampires, and all matter of undead things.

“Mainland’s got all sorts of monsters. Baldor’s idea.” She folded her arms, watching Brunhilde continue to pack. “You got everything you need?”

“I’ll make due.” She pinned a fur cloak around her shoulders. “Mainland’s always got monsters, but you heard the rumors. That’s why I’m going.” She put a hand over her the pommel of her sword. “I plan to lay up in Windhelm, and work from there.”

“You’re sure about this?” Frea watched the other woman stalk towards the door. _“Dragons,_ Brun. It’s not a couple of rieklings or a frost troll. What’s happening over there sounds _serious.”_

She fixed a helmet onto her head, casting a shadow over icy blue eyes. “People are suffering, Frea. I can’t do nothing.”


End file.
